


Council Estate Chronicles

by Thatkliqkid



Category: The Bill (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24558292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkliqkid/pseuds/Thatkliqkid
Summary: Snapshots into the life of DC Mickey Webb as he grows up from council estate to copper and all that's in between. Rated T for language and some violence.





	1. July 1983

_“_ _My_ _parents were exactly like the Myers, never had two pennies to rub together; always leavin_ _’_ _me on me own. Absolutely anything could_ _’_ _ve happened._ _”_ _  
_ **_-_ ** **_Mickey S16E79 Two Way Burn_ ** **_-_ **

_July 1983_

Mickey was sweating, his hair damp and sticky against the nape of his neck. The hottest summer of his eight-year-old life and he couldn’t even open a window.

“Please mum,”

“No Mickey. I’m telling you, keep the doors and windows _shut._ ”

“But it’s boiling!”

“Behave yourself. I’ll be at work, you’re dad’s down the pub with Richie.”

“Mum…”

“Don’t start Mickey, you’re a big boy, it’s only a couple of hours,”

She pressed a hasty lipstick kiss against his cheek and was gone, leaving the scent of Charlie in her absence.

The turn of the key in the lock echoed in the hallway.

He wasn’t tall enough to open the windows anyway.


	2. December 1985

_“_ _I'm sure you always had a lovely time with your family at Christmas but some of us used to dread that poxy tree going up every single year_ _.”_

**_-_** ** _Mickey S16E_** ** _83_** **_The Night Before_** **_–_**

****

_December 1985_

All he had wanted was one packet of lousy football stickers. Everyone else was collecting them at school. It wasn’t his fault his old man was back on the dole and his Mum was saving every penny to put on the electric. Mickey’s lip still stung in the cold winter air from where his dad had cracked him for mouthing off, the split even more evident now than it had been last night.

He gave the back gate a good kick behind him. Always the back way, never the front. Bailiffs and coppers came to the front. He slung his rucksack down as he entered the kitchen. Last night’s plates still piled high in the sink, encrusted in tomato sauce, floating in the greasy water. He could hear strains of Frank Sinatra’s Christmas album crooning through the house.

“Mum?”

“In here love,”

His stomach sank as he entered the living room. In the corner, in all its tawdry glory stood the Christmas tree. Branches bent, star lopsided, blue tinsel strewn haphazardly around it, with a million flashing lights. His mum stood proudly beside it, a glass of wine in her hand, the open bottle on the table beside her.

“What do you think?”

Mickey shrugged. 

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothin’”

“Straighten your face then and come help me put the snow on the tree.”

He took the can of fake snow and sprayed it half heartedly over a couple of branches.

“You’re a good lad Mickey, “

He broke into a wide grin as she held up the brightly coloured football stickers.   
  
“Thanks Mum,” he wrapped his arms around her and took the packet gratefully.

“Don’t tell your dad.”

“Don’t tell me what?”

His shadow loomed in the doorway. He was swaying slightly. He usually did after a visit to The Slaters Arms with the lads from the surrounding factories.

“What’s that you got Mick?”

He wasn’t quite quick enough to hide the stickers and watched helplessly as his dad ripped them from his hands.

“Where’d you get these?”   
  
Mickey stared at him, mute.

“I said, where’d you get these?” His dad’s voice was louder now, meaner. The stench of lager was hot against his face. Mickey flinched as his dad grabbed his arm, the grip tightening as he desperately squirmed backwards. 

“You’re hurtin’ me!”

“You better answer then hadn’t you before I break your arm.”

“I bought them!” His mum’s confession was panicked.

Mickey crumpled to the floor, air escaping on a painful breath as his father released him sharply and rounded on his mother.

“You trying to undermine me?”

“No”

“He gets everything he bloody well asks for.”

“It was a ten pence packet of stickers!”

“We haven’t got the money for fucking stickers!”

“But we’ve got the money for you to go get pissed with your mates?”

“ Got enough for your wine ‘aven’t we, you two faced bitch?”   
  
The wine bottle shattered against the wall.

Then the hitting started.

His father’s knuckles smacked against his mother’s cheekbone, her nose a pulpy crimson. 

“Stop it, stop!” Mickey begged through his tears.

The tree crashed to the floor as they fought and Mickey fled behind the sofa, heart racing. His mum let out a tortured wail and Mickey covered his ears with his hands.

He stayed there, watching the shadow of his father’s fist pummel his mother against the backdrop of the wall.

Somewhere in the distance there were police sirens.

The front door slammed punctuating his father’s exit, breaking through the boy’s barrier. Mickey crawled around from the sofa. His mother was sprawled on the floor, crying noisily, blood caked her face, her eyes dark and sunken. 

And all the while Frank Sinatra continued to sing.


	3. March 1986

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains animal abuse/death.

" _I killed a hamster when I was eleven, you know what I mean? Chucked it in the freezer."  
_ _ **-**_ _ **Mickey S**_ _ **24**_ _ **E**_ _ **72**_ _ **Hold Me Tight Part 1**_ _ **-**_

_March 1986_

There was a pecking order to walking home from school. Cutting across the wasteland, passing a burnt-out motor the popular estate kids like Amy Walker led, girls, jostling for position on her arm. Everyone else followed, and Mickey stayed on the fringes.

Amy Walker was the princess of their Primary School. All the teachers loved her.

Mickey considered her a bitch.

Today had been footie day, as well as fish and chips, so it hadn't been as awful as usual. He'd managed to sleep pretty well the night before. His parents' screaming had gone quiet in the early hours.

It was Jase Thompson who saw it first. He nudged Mickey in the ribs and pointed excitedly. There amongst the grass, just east of an abandoned chest freezer was the hamster. Something had obviously gotten to it in the night. A cat perhaps. Or a bird. Whatever it was, the result wasn't pretty. It was still alive, but only just.

The gossip broke out amongst the group of school children.

"Freddie Star ate a hamster."

"He did not!"

"'Ee did! Me dad read it in the paper."

Mickey nudged it with his foot.

"Ugh don't touch it!" the girls squealed as one.

Everyone in Year 6 knew Sarah Nichols had lost her pet hamster George last week. She'd spent every lunchtime crying to Miss Wilkes. They huddled around the animal, like mourners at a funeral, driven not by sympathy but morbid curiosity.

Mickey looked down at the hamster. At the blood, the way its chest struggled to rise. Why didn't the stupid thing fight harder instead of being so useless?

He brought his foot down angrily. The hamster squelched beneath the sole of his trainer.

"Mickey!"

"What did you do that for?"

"It were nearly dead anyway," he snapped.

"That's horrible!"

"You're disgusting Mickey Webb" Amy Walker cast her royal judgment.

"Shut up!"

"You shut up, hamster killer!"

The chant went up amongst the small crowd.

Mickey felt his face flush with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. He scooped it up, blood, guts, and all and waved the dead hamster right in Amy's smug face.

She emitted a horrified shriek and took off, the rest of the girls following behind.

"You're weird you are," Jase said.

"It's only a dead hamster, ain't like I killed a person."

"What you gonna do with it?"

Mickey shrugged.

" Bury it?"

"They don't bury you straight after you die," Mickey said.

"What do they do then?"

"Freeze you."

"Freeze it then," Jase nodded at the freezer.

Mickey struggled with the lid, eventually wresting it open. He dropped the dead hamster unceremoniously into the depths of the now stinking freezer.

Jase's name echoed across the grass, his mother's silhouette in the distance.

"Later hamster killer,"

Mickey watched as Jase took off before continuing the trudge home, alone.

He hadn't killed it, not really.

He'd just put it out of its misery.


End file.
